gooseneck barnacles are laughing at the sugar in your coffee.
you snip sunshine from the heather and embark -
upon the journey of your life -
as a slave to pickled goat and lemon spheres.
you Barley up the pipe, and the rain retreats
to the beckoning... humming in fierce clouds
and singing nothing
but return,

the sum of all Deer, are casting spells into your blind spot, probably.
you can't find a truth in your grip, until it's dark.
and on the gurney, you find the angel, fallen on your behalf... imprisoned.

wyrd.

and you -
have something
fully lost.